So....I am not a fan of carnivals

When all  my friends would get excited about the rides when the carnival came to town, I would try to find excuses to get out of going on them. Never one to enjoy being whipped around, turned upside down, or taken to heights that birds don't even fly, I had no intention of joining the masses in line to get the terror of their lives. I could get dizzy doing summersaults. I had managed for many years to avoid them. Being short allotted me many opportunities to be turned away while feigning disappointment. That wasn't going to last though. I knew I would never be tall, but I also knew that one day, I would surpass the "you must be this tall" line. And I did.

It was 7th grade and my best friend wanted to go to the carnival that was in town during spring break. Always a big tradition, I had gone many times. I had already made it past the "you can't ride this" line, but I had managed to turn myself into the "stuff holder" so I didn't have to worry about riding the metal traps of death myself. I assumed this time wouldn't be any different. I was wrong. Since a few of our friends were out of town, it turned out to be just me and my bestie. When we first got there we did the normal walk through. We stopped at the fortune teller. She told me I was going to get married some day. Eerily accurate. Then we walked over to the games where we spent a small fortune in order to try and win a prize that was worth about a dollar. After meandering around for a while, my friend said she wanted to check out the rides. I went along, but admit I was skeptical since it was just the two of us. I was relieved to see that we weren't stopping. That is, until we got to The Zipper. Suddenly my friend got all excited and looked at me with this anxious grin on her face. Before she even asked the question I was already shaking my head no. Exasperated, she said, "Come on! I don't want to go by myself and you always end up holding peoples stuff. It's your turn to go on. It'll be fun!" She continued to badger me and I continued to shake my head until, out of nowhere, my crush of the week showed up. He had a couple friends with him and they all stopped to talk. He said they had ridden The Zipper earlier and it was super cool. He told us how some lady rode it at the same time they did and screamed the whole time. All his friends laughed and nodded and said they thought it was hilarious. He asked us if we were going to ride. My friend was just about to open her mouth, probably to solidify to them how uncool I was, when I said, "Yea! Totally! Only reason I even came. I love going on rides!" I gave my friend a quick look that told her to go along with it then I strolled over to the ticket taker and boldly handed him my stubs. There was no way I was going to let the guy I was pretty sure the tarot lady was talking about, think I was a baby.

We were escorted over to these steel cages that seemed awfully flimsy and were belted in with straps that looked as secure as dental floss. I glanced over to where the boys had been standing and saw that they were still there, watching us. I gave a thumbs up and they returned it. I then mentally prepared myself for the ride and what I assumed my crushes reaction would be to my act of bravery once I stepped off. Lost in my fantasy of him telling me how awesome and cool I was, I was jolted slightly when the ride started. Moving slowly, I waited. When we just continued a slow climb, I started laughing. Was this it? It's not so bad. I could totally handle it. Piece of cake. I looked over at my friend and told her as much. She then informed me that the ride hadn't even started yet. They were still letting people on. We were only moving so they could open the next cage.

As we slowly inched higher, the cage started to turn so that we were on our backs, looking up at the sky. Feeling a little disoriented, I closed my eyes in an attempt to ground myself while my friend chatted on excitedly. I started feeling a little better, opened my eyes....and that's when the ride finally started. We didn't move really fast at first and as we started to come around the loop, I could feel my stomach flip. I looked down, which wasn't the best idea, and I could see my crush was still there talking to his friends. I got my stomach under control and then imagined the boy of my dreams smiling at me when I got off, holding his arms open, and telling me how brave I was. I envisioned us holding hands and walking the rest of the carnival together as other girls looked on, jealous. I was about to wave and try to get his attention so he knew which cage we were in when suddenly we were plummeting towards the ground at warp speed. I had a dreadful feeling that the ride was broken and we were about to crash into the pavement. Panic set in and holding my breath, I froze. My friend started laughing and doing the 'woo-hoo" yell. I barely had time to acknowledge her as we came mere inches away from the ground. Finally finding my voice, I screamed. Not that "I like to be scared" scream, but the kind where you are being chased by a murderer and if you don't get someone's attention soon, you are going to die. Once my vocal chords started working, they wouldn't stop. I started pleading loudly that I wanted them to stop the ride. I wanted off! Right now! I even tried to sound authoritative. I told whoever was running the ride that they had to stop it or I would sue. I claimed my buckle wasn't working properly and I was floating out of my seat. When that didn't work, I said I was going to be sick and that I'm sure the people behind me wouldn't appreciate being hit in the face with my lunch. Tears streaming down my face, I yelled that I needed to go to the restroom or I would end up peeing myself and I didn't bring a change of clothes. No matter what I said though, the ride continued. I tried closing my eyes, but that just made things worse. I continued yelling. Begged for my life. Then resorted to name calling when it was obvious the guy in charge of the ride didn't care that I was going to die By the time the whole thing was over, my voice was gravely, my eyes were getting puffy from crying, and my nose was running.

Once it was our turn to be released from the death trap we had just spent the last 5 minutes on, I glared at the ride guy and got off the platform as fast as I could. Unfortunately my legs were wobbly and I was a bit dizzy. I ended up tripping over my own feet and landed on the ground right in front of the guy I was planning on devoting my life to. I took a quick minute to quietly thank the ground for being so solid, then composed myself and stood up with the help of my soon to be former best friend. I looked at the boys and laughed while I wiped off my knees, hoping they couldn't see my hands shaking. "Just a little dizzy," I said, "Hey! Did you hear that screamer? Wow right? Seriously, if you can't handle the rides, you shouldn't get on them." No one said anything for a moment. I cleared my throat, tried to act cool and continued my ridicule. With one hand on my hip, I shook my head at the foolishness of some people. Finally one of them said, "Uh, you've got black stuff running down your face." I looked over at my friend who nodded and already had a tissue in her hand for me. I cursed myself for my dislike of waterproof mascara. I grabbed the tissue, dabbing my face, and explained that while we were up there, I got something in my eye and they started watering. I was about to explain the dangers of foreign objects in your eye and how you could go blind when his other friend started laughing really loud and said, "We saw you! Every time your cage came around, you yelled at the ride guy. You weren't really going to pee yourself, were you?"

I didn't go to carnivals much after that. The few that I did was after we had our kids (no, this crush was not my future husband), I stuck to the game area or the kiddie rides. I figured my husband heard enough of my screaming in the delivery room.

So.....I shoplifted once

Ok, so once isn't exactly true. That's what everyone says though right? "I only did it that one time." Truth is I got caught once. I'd actually done it several times before then. Don't worry, I'm not proud of myself, but I was 17, stupid, and a smoker. Something my parents didn't know yet. Oh they knew I was 17. They were there when I was born. And I'm pretty sure they knew I was prone to stupidity. If I interpreted the looks they gave me whenever I came up with one of my most brilliant ideas that I shared with them correctly. But as far as the smoking? No. They didn't know. But they were about to find out in the worst way possible.

Coming from a long line of nicotine junkies on my dad's side (my mom never smoked and her family lived far away so we weren't exposed to their non-smoking ways), it should have come as no surprise that one day I would light up in attempt to impress my friends while standing in the girls bathroom like you'd see in one of those afterschool specials. When I was a kid, I would buy candy cigarettes with my allowance money and pretend they were real. I would hold them like I'd seen my grandmother do so many times and would act out the process of inhaling and exhaling, minus the coughing fits of course, and then I would eat them. The candy. I never ate an actual cigarette. So one day when I had a friend over, we were bummed to discover that both of us were out of smokes. To appear cool, I told her no problem. We could just walk down to the store and steal some. I'd done it a couple times before and gotten away with it so I figured why not do it again. She thought I was absolutely crazy but went along with it because, after all, that's what friends do. I should have known the minute I looked outside that it was a bad idea. We would have to walk and it was raining. Naturally because this was the 80s, I could not get my hair wet. The can of aqua net I used to hold my hair in place, when mixed with rain, could form a helmet that even lasers couldn't penetrate. So I did the most obvious thing. I grabbed an umbrella. Here's the thing though. Anyone who has ever lived in Washington and is a teenager, will tell you that most teens will not and would not carry an umbrella. To do so draws attention and totally takes away from your cool factor. Why? I don't know. It just does. But I was having a good hair day for a change and was not going to ruin it. So off we went with the umbrella in tow. From the minute we walked into the store, we were noticed. As I closed the umbrella, but didn't bind it, we walked over to where the cigarettes were and I nonchalantly grabbed 2 packs. My friend was already telling me to abort the plan as she could feel the judging eyes of the store manager as we walked towards an aisle while sporting our ripped acid washed jeans and Ozzy t-shirts. I looked over at her, rolled my eyes, and told her to chill out. I knew what to do. I had this. Playing it cool, I took one of the cigarette packs, slid it down my arm so it would fall into the umbrella, and then acted like I was looking at stuff on the shelf. Standing there staring at the toilet paper, I glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then loudly declared, "Not the brand that mom likes," and headed back the front of the store where I set the other pack down, acting as though having the wrong toilet paper meant I wasn't going to purchase anything. To this day, I'm still not sure why I thought that would work. Needless to say it didn't and the store manager approached us just as we were trying to leave. While being escorted to the back of the store, I looked over at my friend who was absolutely livid, and did the one thing a cold hardened criminal like myself does in situations like this. I burst into tears.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, this was not the day and age of cellphones. I knew before our wet and menacing trek to the store that my parents were grocery shopping and would be gone for hours. Since the officer couldn't get a hold of them, I got to experience my first ride in the back of a cop car. I also got to experience what it's like to strip down to your bra and underwear and have a female officer pat you down while asking you to shake your hair so she can make sure you aren't hiding anything in it. Don't even get me started on the other places they think you might hide things. Who does that? After sitting in a holding cell for almost 2 hours (luckily they don't double up people in there), my parents finally arrived. And that's when they found out I was a smoker. After speaking to the lady behind the desk, they turned and looked at me through the little strip of glass that I could see out of from my area of isolation. The looks on their faces confirmed to me that living in a holding cell wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. It's not very big and there is writing on the wall (I don't even want to know how they managed to smuggle a pen in there) but it was quaint and once you get over your claustrophobia, it could be a nice place to live.

The ride back to the house was filled with silence and the occasional glance my way that said I was not their favorite child at the moment. Once we got home, the silence continued for about an hour or so until the flood gates opened and the whole neighborhood got to overhear how much trouble I was in. I swear they would wander out into their yards and act as if they were doing yard work just to overhear how long I'd be grounded this time. By the time my parents had exhausted themselves from all the yelling and disappointed looks thrown my way, I was officially grounded for life. I checked recently and found that it hasn't been lifted yet. After having to attend my diversion hearing (as it was called then), I also got to be made to feel guilty repeatedly as they reminded me on a regular basis that my dad would have to take a day off work to drive me to my mandatory shoplifting class that I had to attend. My sentence also included the fun task of doing community service. More on that later.

The class, which consisted of about 10 other kids and their parents, was easily one of the most humiliating experiences. Did I mention I had a practically naked pat down? Well this was worse. I think I've mentioned before that I have a tendency to try to act cool when, in fact, I am not. Well this was no different. In my never ending attempt to do just that, I did things that made little sense to anyone else but perfect sense to me. So with that, I figured I'd walk into this class and get myself a little street cred. You know, try to come off as someone whose "been there, done that." I mean yea, it was just a shoplifting charge. Hardly anything hardcore, but I decided I could cop enough of a 'tude to give the impression that this was the most minor thing I've ever done. Strut in as if this was hardly the first time I'd been in trouble with the law. So I rolled my shoulders, got a little sneer going on my face, (which made my dad look at me and ask me if I was feeling ok because he thought I looked like I was going to be sick), and walked in like I owned the place. Loudly chewing my gum in an attempt to look aloof, I stood there. The epitome of badassery....and then realized something. I'm the oldest person there (other than the parents of course).....by about 6 years.

Sitting in a circle, we had to go around the room, tell our names, and explain why we were there. I sat, mortified, and just stared at the group of kids that should have been in daycare. Getting a nudge from my dad signaled that it was my turn. I gave my name and told of my arrest in my best monotone voice to the yawns of what would be the future delinquents of America. Turns out I was the only "first timer" there. After a few mind numbing speeches by people of varying careers telling us what a life of crime would lead to and a couple activities where you had to pick partners and tell personal details about yourself, we were finally free to leave. I couldn't get out of the building fast enough. Bolting through the doors with my head down, my dad followed, sporting the same ridiculous grin on his face that he kept the whole time we were there.

I honestly thought nothing could be worse than that. Then I had to do my community service. At the junior high that my sister and her friends attended. So far, people only knew of the arrest but not the why. So naturally as never being one to learn a lesson, I try for the cool factor again. I take on the roll of teenage troublemaker. The kind of kid you don't want your children to hang out with. I act like the whole thing is no big deal. I talked of my stint in juvie like it's a normal thing and laughed as though I've ridden in many a cop car in my day. Totally played it off like I'm some tough chick you don't want to mess with. When the rumors started swirling that I was arrested due to an assault where I broke one girls nose and the arm of another, I did nothing to dispel them. I felt pretty important and the junior high kids who came into the office treated me like I was famous. When I would walk down to use the restroom, you could feel how the other girls were intimidated by my presence. I was on top of the world being immersed in teenage respect. That is until my sister, in her attempt to save my reputation, set the record straight and told everyone the actual story. In her defense, she actually did think she was helping. Of course that didn't stop me from refusing to speak to her for about a week and since we shared a room, drawing a line down the middle like a bad Brady bunch episode. But anyway, after about a month of having to endure the smirks of her classmates for a few hours every day, I completed my required time and am happy to report that I never once shoplifted again. If only I gave up trying to be cool as easy as that.